


Born Sick

by hurt_mod, Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time Bottoming, Homophobic Slurs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurt_mod/pseuds/hurt_mod, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has been raised to believe homosexuality is a sin.  When he encounters an out and proud Harry Potter, his world turns upside down.  He is forced to question his beliefs, his values and himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born Sick

You press your lips against his neck, where his pulse beats rapidly. 

His eyes meet yours, the windows to his soul. If you look hard enough you can see his heart. It’s full, open and it’s better than yours. His light is too strong, too pure. It hurts to hold his gaze, and you have to turn to look back into the darkness. It’s safer there, where you can pretend it’s anyone else. Anyone but him.

“Where are you?” 

He pulls you back, his hands on your cheeks. He groans, and it’s guttural and animalistic. It makes your cock harden against his thigh, and you press your palm over his heart. Of course he wants you there even when he shouldn’t. Even when it’s the last thing you deserve. It’s so ineffably Harry of him, it makes your heart clench. You kiss him, because it feels like you should. 

“Here. I’m here.”

His skins smells like your cologne and his lips taste like chocolate and sweet white wine. You want to slide a knife along his skin until he bleeds. You want to taste his tears – warm and salty on your tongue. The night gathers around you both and the moon casts its luminescent glow on Harry’s cheeks. You wonder if he’s this beautiful all the time, when he bleeds and when he cries.

“Fuck me.” He slides his tongue over his lips and his voice catches. “Fuck me _hard_.”

Christ, that’s good. It makes your head spin and you teeter on the brink of pleasure. 

It hurts to fuck him. It’s drowning in the ocean, and the waves of pleasure crash over you relentlessly until you’re left gasping for breath. When you sink inside him, you lose a bit of yourself – every fucking time. Your body bends and breaks as you push into Harry and you have to hold onto him tightly just to keep yourself together. 

Your resolve shatters. You want to be cruel, and you desperately need to keep your distance. The hateful words falter on the tip of your tongue. _Faggot_. It was going to be so satisfying to watch his face crumple and his eyes shine with tears. You were going to take such pleasure taking him apart piece by piece. You never meant to end up here, with your heart full of him. Your skin carries his scent, his eyes burn into your brain even when you shut him out. His hands on your skin send sparks of pleasure through your body and your heart sings for him. 

He slides his hands along your back and pulls you into a deep kiss before you can expose yourself. His tongue meets yours, his lips part and he sighs into the kiss. He’s firm, hard and strong. He’s slim lines and toned thighs. He’s messy hair and the brightest smile you’ve ever known. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and something you never wanted at all.

You grip his hips hard enough to bruise and fuck him with abandon. His slick skin slides against yours, and his cock presses against your stomach. His hand slips between you and he fists himself in his palm, his knuckles rubbing against you as he moves with reckless need. 

You _love_ him.

The realisation washes over you and pulls you under where it’s dark and you can’t hold yourself together anymore. 

You can’t remember speaking, but you must have done because he’s looks as though you’ve just given him the moon on a stick. “I love you too, you daft prick.” His voice is breathless, and he smiles through his words. 

Fuck. _Fuck_.

Fucking isn’t supposed to be like this. It’s supposed to be cheap thrills and easy pleasure. It’s not supposed to twist your gut and clutch your heart until you can’t feel anything else but _him_. It’s not supposed to be with him at all. It’s supposed to be soft curves and a wet cunt, not hard muscles and a thick, hard prick rubbing against your own. It’s not supposed to be losing control, and letting him see your darkest desires. Your mask isn’t supposed to slip so completely when you’re inside him. 

You need him more than you’ve ever needed another person in your life.

His skin is hot and damp and his body presses against yours. He arches, as if he needs you deeper inside his body when you’re already deeper than you ever wanted to be. An invisible hand grips your heart and twists. 

He makes you ache.

He makes you vulnerable. 

He makes you more fucking scared than you’ve ever been in your life. 

He makes you _queer_.

And you hate him for that, most of all.

*

Potter stood before the Wizengamot, his eyes dull and his face drawn. He hadn’t bothered to shave, and the rough stubble contrasted starkly with his pale skin. His slender fingers tapped against the burnished mahogany stand, and he spoke without emotion. He refused to catch Draco’s eye and he kept his gaze firmly on the gathered council, his expression grim.

He dressed like a Muggle office worker, with a stained tie and a creased shirt. His sloppy appearance irritated Draco – his future hung in the balance and Potter couldn’t even be bothered to dress himself properly. 

Draco had to stop himself from glaring. It wouldn’t do to look at Potter with anything other than admiration and contrition with so many people watching, so he tried not to look at Potter too closely at all. 

For the most part, Potter spoke calmly and when he made a joke, warm laughter filled the room. Draco’s stomach twisted and his body heated with anger at Potter’s flagrant disregard for the seriousness of the situation.

It took less than thirty minutes for Potter to secure Draco’s freedom. Draco waited for the crowds to dissipate and made his way outside to find Potter leaning against the brickwork, his face upturned.

“I suppose you want me to thank you?”

“Not particularly.” Potter didn’t look at Draco, and his shoulders lifted and fell in a careless shrug. “You don’t owe me anything, Malfoy.”

“Was I the last?” 

“No.” Potter didn’t elaborate. He pushed himself off the wall and loosened his tie. His hand trembled and he curled his fingers into a fist with a muttered curse.

“You look like shit.” 

“Thanks.” Potter snorted, and looked into the distance with a frown. “It looks like rain.”

Draco didn’t dignify Potter’s comment with a response. The last thing he wanted was to stand around exchanging pleasantries about the weather.

“You’ll be joining the Aurors, I expect?”

“Yes.” Potter stuffed his hands into his pockets and leant back against the wall as if he didn’t have the energy to stand unassisted. “You?”

“I’ll finish my education at Durmstrang. Then, who knows.”

“Well…” Potter trailed off and finally made the effort to move away. “I’d better get going. Have a nice life, Malfoy. I’ll see you around.”

He disappeared before Draco could respond.

*

He lets you do the kind of things you’ve dreamed about for twenty plus years. The strength of his desire leaves you breathless, and it makes you weak and uncertain.

The velvet midnight cloaks your shame, and you caress the places where shadows slide over his skin. You run your fingers over every inch of his body and linger in the places which make his breath hitch and shudder. 

“You’re good at this.” 

“I don’t want to be good at this,” you reply. 

“No.” He shifts onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t suppose you do.”

He spreads himself open and lets you tongue him until you’re dizzy with need. He lets you slide slick fingers deep inside him, breaching his body at will. His cock is hard and pulses in your mouth as you finger fuck him until you think you might come over his crumpled bedsheets before you can get inside him.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” His voice is rough with desire, and his hand tangles in your hair. He tugs and it’s sharp pain and pleasure all at once. You slide up his body and bite down on his neck, where it meets his shoulder. “Fuck, Draco…”

“Sshh…Harry…don’t.” 

Don’t speak. Don’t spoil it. Don’t make me remember it’s _you_ and it’s _us_. 

You worship his body with your tongue and your lips. It makes him writhe with pleasure until he comes with a shout. He takes your prick deep into the back of his throat. Nobody sucks cock like Harry. He’s shameless in his desire to please and when he looks up, you come hard in his mouth. He licks his lips and pulls back as if it’s something delicious – something to be savoured.

“You like that.”

“Yeah, of course.” Harry raises an eyebrow at you and sits back on his heels. He traces lazy circles on your thigh and it tickles. You close your legs because you don’t want him getting any ideas. You won’t let him fuck you, no matter how good he looks when he’s naked and hot with arousal and need.

“It’s disgusting.”

“Is it?” Harry sighs and slides back on the sheets, pillowing his head in his hands. He’s so confident in his own skin, so assured in his pleasure. It makes you unspeakably angry. “I doubt you’d have a problem with it if I was a witch.”

“But you’re not.” You lie on your back next to him and his hand brushes yours. You resist the urge to twine your fingers together, your body suddenly cold without Harry pressed against your skin. “I have to go.”

“What?” He turns his head to you, uncertain. “Don’t go.”

“It’s nearly midnight.” You stare at a spot on the ceiling. You focus on the same light stain on the cream paint until it makes your head hurt. You rub your forehead and it’s a gesture which reminds you of Harry in difficult meetings, clearing his throat and trying to calm angry voices.

“It’s still early.” Harry reaches for your hand and brushes his lips against your fingers. “ _Stay_ , for fucks sake. There’s no shame in this. There’s no shame in any of it.”

If you stay it makes this more than fucking. If you allow yourself to curl up beside Harry and breathe in his scent, you’re not sure you’ll ever have the strength to leave.

Your whole body is sated and relaxed, and your eyes are heavy with sleep. You run your thumb over Harry’s mouth and he kisses it briefly, looking at you with that same unwavering stare. You lean in and kiss him. It’s a mistake. It’s slow and more intimate than all of the earlier acrobatics. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes.

It’s a kiss that shows you Harry’s heart.

It’s a kiss that, finally, lets him see yours.

*

“How was Durmstrang?” Potter didn’t look up from his papers when Draco knocked on the open door to his office.

The fact that Potter was part of Draco’s Ministry induction schedule wasn’t a surprise. Despite his hope that the hype over Potter might have died down, Harry Potter’s star seemed to have grown even brighter in Draco’s absence. He smiled up from the first _Prophet_ Draco purchased on his return, a floor to ceiling picture of Potter reminded shoppers at Diagon Alley of the importance of courage in the face of adversity and Twilfitt and Tattings’ window display consisted largely of awkward pictures of Potter dressed in expensive looking robes.

“Do you care?”

Potter looked up and blinked. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“Durmstrang was fine. I prefer Hogwarts.” Draco met Potter’s gaze head on and kept his voice cool. “I thought I was going to be working for the Ministry, not the Harry Potter fan club.”

Potter winced, and raked a hand through his hair. “You had the tour?”

“Yes, I had the tour.” Draco raised his eyebrows and tried not to take obvious satisfaction in Potter’s discomfort. “You have a library named after you.”

“That wasn’t my idea.” Potter glared and folded his arms. He was clean shaven, and his Auror uniform pristine and neatly pressed. He replaced his old glasses with a new pair with thick, black frames. As much as it pained Draco to admit it, Potter looked good.

“But you let them do it anyway?”

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of choice,” Potter muttered. He tapped his fingers against the desk and it reminded Draco of the trial, when Potter stood before the Wizengamot, thin and drained. 

“You look…better.” Draco almost managed to convince himself that it was as simple as that. Potter did look better, after all.

“Do I?” Potter looked momentarily pleased, and his lips curved into a smile. “You too.”

When Draco looked back on his first day at the Ministry, he wondered if that was the start of it all.

A careless compliment and a smile which took his breath away.

*

It’s uncomfortable at first. It’s intrusive and it feels peculiar. You want to push Harry away and you have to regulate your breathing.

“I’ve got you,” Harry murmurs. His arm wraps around you and he holds you close as his fingers push inside you. His slick hand slides over your cock, and you breathe in his scent which covers the pillows. 

You close your eyes, and your body twists with pleasure when Harry strokes his fingers just so. It drives you wild, and you want to ask for more but you can’t bring yourself to say anything at all.

_Fuck me_

Harry can’t hear you, because it’s all in your head. But you wonder when he pumps his hand hard and slides another finger inside you, if maybe he can. 

Maybe he hears exactly what you’re thinking, even when you desperately hope he can’t.

*

It was sinful, the way Potter dressed. His jeans were tight enough to display a pleasing bulge and his shirt was slim-fitting and clung to his body in all the right places. Just looking at him made Draco salivate, and his stomach twisted with jealousy when he watched Potter flirt easily with the barman who looked like the cat that got the cream.

It had been a long day and Draco wanted to get steaming drunk, not watch Potter and a Muggle exchange heated glances across a tatty bar.

“Do you always do that?” Draco commented, trying to keep the grouchy tone from his voice. Potter’s broad smile didn’t help ease his mood.

“Order drinks?”

“Flirt with barmen.”

“I wasn’t flirting.” Potter laughed, and he looked surprised.

“Well he thinks you were,” Draco muttered. Potter probably didn’t even know he was leaving a trail of broken hearts all over Muggle London. The thought was infuriating in the extreme. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I heard rumours you like to be fucked like a girl.” 

Potter set his lips in a grim line and he raised his eyebrows. “You heard wrong.”

“You’re denying it?” It would certainly make life easier for Draco if Potter was having boring vanilla sex with his Weasley chit.

“Denying what, exactly?” Potter’s voice was calm and even, and his steady gaze made Draco feel uncomfortably small. “That I like to get fucked _like a girl_? I’m not even sure I know what that means or why you say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“You know exactly what it means.” Potter’s response made Draco falter and he took a steadying sip of his drink.

“Not really.” Potter’s brow furrowed. “I like to get fucked by other men. Like a _gay man_.”

The quick reply made Draco’s body heat and he looked away. “Why?”

Potter snorted and he drained his pint. “I have no idea. Because I’m easy to corrupt, I imagine.”

The teasing note to Potter’s voice made Draco furious. He glared at Potter who continued to smile back at him with easy confidence. “You admit it’s a perversion?”

“Yeah, I do.” Potter grinned, and Draco could tell he was still taking the piss. His voice dipped low and he leaned forward. It was so fucking sexy, Draco thought he might lose his mind. “I’m _very_ perverted.” He chuckled, and the mood was broken. “So are you, apparently.”

“Fuck you.” Draco clenched his hands into tight fists and pushed his chair back. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know what Oliver told me.” Potter tipped his drink in Draco’s direction, the same lazy smile playing over his lips. “But it’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. I’m not in the habit of outing people who want to stay in the closet.” He paused and his expression shifted into a firm, serious sort of look which made Draco feel ashamed and vulnerable all at the same time. “But keep your opinions about my _unnatural_ sex life to yourself, if you don’t mind. I’m not a fan of homophobes.”

“And I’m not a fan of queers.” Draco stood and pulled his coat around himself. “Keep away from me, Potter.”

Potter sighed and waved Draco away, with a dismissive flick of his hand. “My pleasure.”

It was raining by the time Draco got outside. Without as much as a charm to keep him dry, he walked all the way home.

*

You tell him you love him one more time, the night before the clocks go forward.

You’re not even fucking and somehow that makes it all the more terrifying.

Harry’s in his office and he’s reading a huge text which is thick with dust. His brow furrows in concentration and his tongue flicks over his lips as he turns the page.

It’s a big day tomorrow. The case they’ve been working on for months has come to a head and Potter’s off somewhere exotic to apprehend a dangerous criminal. It’s the kind of trip you take without any hope of sightseeing or a spare moment to enjoy the warmth of the sea. It’s the sort of trip Aurors return from injured, or don’t return from at all.

You watch Harry from a distance and your heart beats as you study the contours of his face, the curve of his neck and the firm, steady line of his jaw.

“Don’t go,” you whisper, and then, “I love you.”

Harry turns another page in his book, and doesn’t look up.

*

Potter was everywhere.

He crowded Draco’s space and filled his thoughts at every waking moment. It was impossible to work at the Ministry without coming across Potter during the course of the day. He sat opposite Draco in dull Ministry meetings, and talked about changing the world with his usual irrepressible force. It was easy to see why people might be drawn to him. He was magnetic and powerful, and the fact he didn’t even see it made him all the more desirable. He fumbled with his glasses on occasion and brushed a hand along the line of his robes, as if he felt ridiculous dressed up and longed to be somewhere else where people didn’t hang on his every word and his pictures wouldn’t appear on the pages of every publication. It was probably why he liked quiet drinks in Muggle bars with handsome barmen who liked him because he looked good enough to eat, not because he was a hero who saved the world when he was only seventeen.

Draco told himself his interest in Potter was nothing more sinister than a passing curiosity. He pushed aside the long-hidden memory of the way a smile from Zabini made him harder than a dozen kisses from Parkinson. He conveniently forgot about the run in with Wood late one evening summer evening after too much sunshine and gin. The run in Potter apparently knew all about, much to Draco’s mortification. That was hardly comparable, after all. This was _Potter_ for a start. 

Draco’s desire to spend time with Potter was easy to rationalise in the cold light of day until one particularly frigid winter, three years after the war. 

The year that Potter noticed Draco back.

*

The first time you fuck Harry, you wonder if you’ll ever get over him.

He’s the best thing to happen to you, and the very worst.

He’s the first time you can’t deny your feelings. He’s the first time you’ve fucked another man. He’s the first time you’ve wanted anyone so much it makes your body physically ache. He’s the first person you want to love, to the exclusion of all others.

He shows you yourself in the mirror and he doesn’t let you pull away. For one moment when you’re deep inside him, you stop being afraid.

When the passion ebbs and reality washes over you, it plunges you back into icy waters of terror. You can hear your father’s voice and the way he dismisses _faggots_ and _queers_ with the same sort of distain he talks about Mudbloods.

It’s dark, it’s cold and when Harry asks if you’re okay it’s a struggle to remember how to breathe.

*

“You’re working late.” Potter leaned against the doorframe and smiled. “All work and no play might start making you boring, Malfoy.”

“Piss off.” Draco put down his quill and turned to Potter. “I suppose your life is so interesting?”

“I do alright.” Potter shrugged, and gestured down the hall. “Fancy a drink?”

“I still have documents to file, and a new case starting on Tuesday. Dawlish royally fucked up his last arrest and I have to manage the press before the Ministry gets dragged through the mud because of his recklessness. You should fire him, Potter. He’s a liability.”

Potter frowned. “Let me deal with Dawlish. Can’t the filing wait until Monday?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to spend time with me all of a sudden?”

Potter held Draco’s gaze and his lips twitched into a smile. “Because I’m interested in getting to know you better. We can’t work this closely with old school rivalries still hanging over us.” He winked. “Besides, perhaps you’ll change your mind about my lifestyle choices.”

Potter’s unflinching honesty sent a jolt of pleasure through Draco’s body and his heartbeat quickened. “Your lifestyle disgusts me.”

Potter stared. “Does it? Funnily enough I had the impression it intrigued you.”

Draco stood before he could stop himself. He yelled at Potter in a way he hadn’t shouted at anyone in years. He fisted his hands in Potter’s shirt and shook him. He wanted to hurt Potter so badly, Draco wondered if he was capable of murder after all.

Unshed tears pricked his eyes and he blinked them back because Potter had seen him cry once before and he never wanted to let that happen again. He wouldn’t stand in his office snivelling into Potter’s shirt so he could gloat about it with his stupid friends.

“I won’t let you!” 

“You won’t let me what?” Potter’s firm voice cut through Draco tirade and he gripped onto Draco firmly. His hands were large and firm around Draco’s arms. Potter held Draco steady, and his lips were too close for comfort. 

Draco choked on his words when he tried to respond. He shuddered in Potter’s arms as he stepped closer. Potter brushed Draco’s hair from his forehead and his touch was so gentle it made Draco want to weep. Potter’s eyes softened and the steely, angry look left his eyes. 

Saying it out loud made it real and Draco knew he wasn’t as brave as Potter. He couldn’t sit opposite his mother and father and tell them about his perverted inclinations. He couldn’t be disowned. He couldn’t become a laughing stock just because being in the arms of Harry bloody Potter felt like heaven on earth.

“I don’t want to be like you.”

Before Harry could respond, Draco kissed him with clumsy, reckless force.

After a heartbeat, Harry kissed Draco back.

*

It’s all just a matter of finding the right sort of girl.

A witch, from a good family steeped in tradition.

When you first take Astoria to bed, she seems like exactly the right choice. 

She’s perfect because she doesn’t cling, and you’re quite sure she has no intention of falling in love with you. When you fuck she’s distant and reserved. When she looks up her eyes don’t meet yours and she stares into the distance, somewhere to the left of your ear. 

You close your eyes and pretend to be somewhere else.

When you come, it’s Harry’s face you see.

*

“What the fuck is this?” Harry dropped the paper on Draco’s desk, and slammed the door with a flick of his hand. The magic hummed and flexed and Draco tried not to shiver as the room pulsed with it.

“It’s the _Prophet_ , Potter. What do you think it is?”

Draco didn’t think he had seen Harry that angry before. He knew then why people had Harry down as a shoo-in for the next Minister. To Draco, Harry was tatty Muggle trainers and crumpled shirts. He was languid smiles and heated kisses. He was laughter, and hot chips with lashings of ketchup which he fed Draco with a small wooden fork while the spray from the sea hit their cheeks. This Harry was different. This was the Harry Potter that faced the Dark Lord, and won.

“You arse. You bloody _idiot_.” Harry picked up the paper and read out loud, his voice low and furious. “Cygnus and Arabella Greengrass are delighted to announce the engagement of their eldest daughter to the sole heir to the Malfoy family fortune. Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass will marry in June.”

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t marry?” Draco sneered and tried to stop the flush of embarrassment from rising in his cheeks. 

“Not exactly.” Harry’s expression cooled. “Foolish of me, but I thought perhaps _we_ might have a future.”

Draco laughed, without humour. “Wizards can’t marry, Potter.”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.” Harry slumped into a nearby chair and dropped his head into his hands. “We could have kept things quiet, if that was what you wanted.”

“Could we?” Draco shook his head. “You’re out and proud, Potter. You’re a _celebrity_. You’re utterly naïve if you think we could have kept anything quiet for long.”

“You let me fall in love with you.” Harry looked up, his cheeks flushed with anger. “Was it all just some big bloody joke to you? Fuck Harry Potter until something safer comes along? Something more heterosexual? Were you _experimenting_ , is that it?”

“Perhaps. Not all of us are as queer as you, Potter.” Draco pursed his lips.

“You’re _gay_ , Malfoy.” Harry stared at Draco. “You’re fucking _gay_. Stop lying to yourself, will you? Just be honest with me for once. You owe me that.”

“I owe you nothing,” Draco snapped. His cheeks heated and he tried not to let Harry see his discomfiture. “You have no right to tell me what I am. You don’t know me.”

“Clearly.” Harry’s voice took on a cold, angry edge. “Why won’t you just let yourself be happy? It’s not exactly fair to this new fiancée of yours. None of this is fair to anyone – it’s not fair to you, me or her.”

“It might work better than you think. This arrangement of ours doesn’t have to end.” Draco tried to keep the hopeful note from his voice.

“Yes, it does.” Harry cursed under his breath and gave Draco a look which made his chest tighten.

“You’re just upset because I won’t be around to fuck whenever you want anymore.” 

Harry stared back at Draco, and his lips twisted into a brittle smile. “No, Malfoy. That’s not why I’m upset.”

Harry stood and left before Draco could respond, slamming the door behind him.

*

It’s lonely in the dark without him.

There’s too much time to think about everything, and your dreams of him become much more oppressive than any nightmares of monsters under the bed.

You have magazines. A whole stack of them, of varying shapes and sizes. The pictures are lewd and filthy. Men adorn the pages. Tall men, strong and muscular men, slim men and short men. They fuck, finger and fist one another depending on the publication of choice. They suck each other’s pricks and look right at the camera.

“Do you like this?” They say. 

You do, and when you acknowledge it, your arousal coats your hand with its hot, sticky shame.

*

When Harry brought somebody else to the next Ministry Ball, it was wickedly entertaining.

Draco tried to bite back a laugh at the sight of Harry’s chosen partner. A star-struck ingrate from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. It would have been pathetic if it wasn’t so fucking sad. 

“The poor man’s Draco Malfoy.” Draco sipped his champagne and watched as the man – Roger, something – pressed himself close to Harry as if he expected a little of Potter’s celebrity to rub off on him. He was utterly insipid and looked around with an expression caught somewhere between triumphant and startled fawn. 

When Harry slipped outside for air, Draco followed.

Everybody thought Potter was so good and so strong, but Draco knew all of his weak spots.

“I think you can do better.”

“No doubt,” Harry muttered. He folded his hands together on the balcony, but not before Draco noticed the tremor which passed through his body. 

“I’m surprised he’d leave you out here, all alone.” Draco pressed close to Harry and brushed his lips against his neck. He smelled so good, it left Draco dizzy. He was warm where Draco was cold, and his skin burned beneath Draco’s lips. “Careless of him. Roger, is it?”

“Richard.” Harry sucked in gulp of air, and released it with a shudder. “Leave me alone, Draco.”

“No, I don’t think I will if it’s all the same to you.” Draco slid his hands to Harry’s hips and pulled him back against his chest. He kept his composure – just about – but it was almost painful being that close to Harry. He smelled delicious – like a winter’s day when the air was thick with rain. His skin carried the faint scent of somebody else’s cologne and it angered Draco.

“Where’s your wife?” Harry sounded tired and defeated, but he didn’t make any effort to move from the circle of Draco’s arms.

“At home.” Draco didn’t elaborate and Harry turned, uncertain.

“I’m not a cheat. I’m not a liar.”

“No,” Draco agreed. “And yet…”

Draco pushed Harry back against the balcony and kissed him, hard. 

It only took a moment before Harry responded in kind.

*

It’s not like being with Harry. Nothing is. The Muggle is too short and scrawny and the only thing he has going for him is green eyes and impossibly messy inky black hair.

He gets on his knees for you with eager compliance, and he takes your cock into his mouth. He sucks you with enthusiasm and you urge him forward so you can’t see his face.

You lean back against the wall and look up at the stormy sky.

It feels like rain.

You close your eyes, and remember.

*

It was another Ministry Ball, and another cool winter with the threat of snow for the first time in years. Astoria decided to stay at home and Draco planned his night carefully. He scrubbed his body until it practically shone, and used the shampoo which Harry always said made him hungry. He put on his finest robes and he knew from the way Astoria’s eyes flared when he stepped into the Floo that she thought he was up to something. It was rare that he put this much effort in for her, these days.

It never occurred to Draco that the evening might not go exactly as planned. 

There was no easy path to Harry and he barely caught Draco’s eye. He didn’t slip outside for a moment by himself on the balcony, largely because he had someone glued to his side for the entire evening. 

He didn’t look at Draco once, and instead the ferocity of his gaze stayed firmly on someone else. Someone so unexpected a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm Draco. Harry was happy. Draco could see it in the way he smiled, and the easy way he moved around the dance floor. He didn’t give a fuck about people staring, or the flashing lights from the cameras eager to capture the moment for the next day’s news.

Draco drank too much champagne and resorted to speaking to a dull Ministry hack about queer rights. He wore a bright rainbow button, pinned to his robes.

“It’s about time we started catching up with the Muggles, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t care less.” Draco kept his eyes on Harry, as he threw his head back and laughed. He was drinking shots, but not like he used to. He wasn’t trying to get pissed, or drink away his sorrows. He was having _fun_. He looked younger than he had for years, as if the weight of the whole world had left his shoulders. He looked _free_.

“I think it’s brilliant Harry Potter can be himself, what do you think?”

“I think it’s an abomination,” Draco muttered. “Excuse me.”

Draco pushed his way through the crowds to see Harry, not caring if he made a fool out of himself. He didn’t care anything much these days, and he was damned if he would let Potter flaunt his new _partner_ as if Draco had never existed.

Draco almost reached him. He got close enough to hear the low cadence of Harry’s voice and close enough to hear Harry say _I can’t wait to get out of here_ , before someone stopped Draco in his tracks. 

“Don’t you think it’s time you left him alone?” Ginny blocked Draco’s path to Harry, with a hand on her hip and a fiery look in her eyes. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Draco tried to push past Ginny, but she didn’t move an inch. Granger joined her and placed a hand on Draco’s arm, her eyes filled with pity.

“Draco, don’t spoil the evening. Please.” 

“Don’t pity me.” Draco stared at Granger and his stomach turned. “You’re nothing. A Mudblood. I’m a Malfoy, and I don’t need your _pity_.”

“I’m not pitying you.” Granger barely flinched, but her gaze hardened. She exchanged a glance with Ginny who pulled her wand from her robes and pointed it at Draco. “Ginny, don’t. It’s fine. Let’s not make a scene, for Harry’s sake.”

“How could you let this happen?” Draco looked across at the once full table, but Harry was nowhere to be seen. “How could you let him come here with-”

“It’s none of our business who Harry chooses to spend time with.” Ginny put her wand in her robes and glared. “We didn’t interfere when you were in the picture. He told us you were a good sort, and we were daft enough to believe him. How _is_ your wife, Malfoy?”

“Ginny…” Granger tutted and shook her head. “We don’t have any quarrel with you, Draco. We just don’t want Harry to get hurt.”

“Again,” Ginny added, pointedly.

“He’s happy, can’t you see?” Hermione shot Ginny another quick look before focusing her attention on Draco. “I think he deserves that, don’t you?”

Draco didn’t respond.

*

Astoria leaves in the autumn, when the leaves are burnished orange and burgundy. The air is crisp and cool, and the skies are a clear, light blue. She takes your only son to Paris, where she promises he will receive the very best of everything.

She doesn’t tell you where she’s going or who she’s going with, but something tells you it’s not as simple as finding another man with a trust fund. It’s something different entirely. You remember her cool detachment during sex, and imagine her with another woman in a luxurious city apartment with views over Montmartre. 

You study your face in the mirror. It’s taken on the gentle lines of age and you wonder why the laughter lines look so faint. There are too few and every one of them belongs to Harry.

He’s everywhere, now. Even more than usual. The whole world seems to have fallen in love with Harry Potter.

You smile in the mirror, and the lines of Harry’s making crinkle one by one.

You’ve always been a coward.

Too scared to kill, and too scared to love.

“Harry,” you murmur.

Your reflection blurs and shimmers until it’s green eyes staring back at you and the happiest of smiles. For a moment you get a glimpse of Harry’s freedom. 

Your smile fades and with it the laughter lines, and the last remnants of Harry against your skin.

*

Harry’s beautiful when he sleeps.

His eyes flicker as if he’s thinking about something, and even in his dreams you wonder if he’s full of boundless energy.

You whisper that you love him, one more time in case it’s the last chance you get. After all, there’s a paper and an announcement coming out tomorrow and you can’t imagine how he’ll take the news.

His eyes flicker and the shadows of the night slide along his face.

His lips curve into a smile and your name falls from his lips.

You speak to him in whispers which mingle with his soft snores. You make him promises it’s impossible to keep in the cold light of day. You tell him your secret, and it’s like a weight falls from your shoulders as you breathe the words into his ear.

Harry sleeps on, but part of you hopes he already knows.

And that one day, you’ll be strong enough to let your whispers be heard.

_~Fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment for the author here or on LIVEJOURNAL ♥
> 
> **End Note:** Thank you to A for the SPaG check, and to Kedavranox for being so patient in the face of repeated extension requests. The title is from Hozier’s ‘Take Me to Church’.


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